PART IV.
HOW TO GROW OLD.
“The hoary head is a crown of glory if it be found in the way of righteousness.”—Proverbs xvi. 31.
You, my dear girl friends, will not have forgotten our last talk about growing old, or that we left the most important part of it for this evening. We then dealt with externals, yet we realised that these were the outcome of our inner selves, and inseparable from them.
Let me ask you to impress on your memories the text I have just quoted—
“The hoary head is a crown of glory if it be found in the way of righteousness.”
There is no glory in gray hairs unless accompanied by the holy, Christ-like life. On the contrary, anything in a character which is pitiable, degrading, impure, or contemptible, seems more lamentable in old age than at any other period of life. Childhood is emphatically the “age of innocence,” or ought to be such. Of the children those sweet lines were written:
“They’ve the least taint of earthly sod;
They’re freshest from the hand of God,”
and even when their young minds have been polluted and their simplicity smirched through evil surroundings, there is room for hope that in the years to come the seeds of evil may be uprooted, and the stains removed.
Girlhood is the step in advance, and suggestive of the opening bud which promises fulness of beauty to come.
Old age, that last stage in Life’s journey, ought to be the season of ripe wisdom, the period when everything that is good in us should be at its best, despite our failing bodily powers. Naturally, then, the sight of soured, unlovable, or degraded old age shocks us most of all, on account of its almost hopelessness. There is so little likelihood of any change for the better.
A bad habit long indulged in is a tyrant whose claim has been tightening round its wearer with every day’s indulgence in it. How small a chance is there that its hold will be relaxed in the time of hoar hairs and bodily weakness.
Let us look together at some types of old age, those which we admire, revere, love, and long to imitate, and others which make the very thought of age repulsive. From such a contemplation you must turn to yourselves, my dear ones, and search your hearts and lives in order that you may find out what they promise for that, to you, far-away future, old age.
If you discover the germs of an evil growth which will reach maturity with hoar hairs if left to increase, and will make your latest days a trouble to yourselves and to others, do not rest until you have exterminated them.
On the contrary, you must cherish every thought and aspiration after what is higher, holier, better, and more in harmony with the teaching of our perfect Pattern. The longings must find expression in prayer that they may become habits, which will grow and cling to you and gain strength daily, until the end of your earthly lives.
A good old age! What a beautiful expression this is! A Bible phrase applied, however, to very few even of the most famous of Bible characters.
Some of us may be apt to think that it merely refers to the great number of a person’s years. Surely this cannot be the only qualification for a good old age; for if so, it would have been written of Methuselah, the oldest man that ever walked this earth. His days were nine hundred and sixty-nine years. “And he died.” But of his father, who did not attain to half that age, we are told, “He walked with God and was not; for God took him.”
Abraham, again, was less than half the age of Enoch when he died “in a good old age.”
David, the man after God’s own heart, died, we are told, “in a good old age, full of days, riches, and honour.”
Enoch was three hundred and sixty-five years old when “God took him.” Abraham, one hundred and seventy-five, and David only threescore years and ten, yet the term “good old age” was applied to both the last named, so it is plain that mere length of years was not all.
To you, to me, to every true servant of God who is spared to reach the season of hoar hairs, a good old age is as possible as it was to those of whom we read in the sacred pages of the Bible.
None of us can tell what was meant by the four words in which the story of Enoch’s earthly pilgrimage is told. God’s life histories are alike, so brief and yet so full. “Enoch walked with God,” says so little, but means so much, that we are lost in wonder at the vast possibilities suggested to our minds. Is not the first effect of the words good to ourselves? Do they not fill us with new yearnings and longings for closer communion with God than we have hitherto known?
It is sweet to think that each of you to whom I speak may also walk with God, may live in constant touch with Him, and have a delightful sense of His nearness to you and love for you. If you walk with God, your feet must be on the “narrow way” which leads to everlasting life. It will not be free from trouble, sorrow, temptation, or difficulty, but it will be a path of holiness, righteousness, peace and joy. If you thus “walk with God,” His presence insures fulness of joy whatever trials you may meet with on your way. Ever pressing onward, your latter days will be better than those of your youth, for “the path of the just is as the shining light that shineth more and more unto the perfect day.”
Yours may sometimes be but trembling footsteps that you plant on that “narrow way,” and many a time and oft you will need to cry, “Hold up my goings in Thy paths, that my footsteps slip not.” But thoughts of joy and cheer will help you onward, for you will remember how near He is with Whom you are striving to walk, as well as all-powerful to keep you from falling. I say “you” instead of “we” and “us,” as I usually do. You will understand why. I am such a long way in advance of you in the journey of life, my dear girl friends, that in fancy I look back and see you comparatively near the beginning of it.
The first Bible character of whom it is said, he died “in a good old age,” is Abraham, who is called “the friend of God” by chronicler, prophet and apostle.
Surely this is the most glorious title ever given to a human being; yet if you and I walk in “the way of the righteous” we may joyfully claim to share it through the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ. Did not He say to the little band of disciples who had journeyed with Him, seen His miracles, and sat as learners at His feet, “Ye are my friends if ye do whatsoever I command you”?
To be called the servant of Christ is an honour unspeakable. But Christ’s words, which may be joyfully appropriated by every true disciple of His, are these. “Henceforth I call you not servants, for the servant knoweth not what his lord doeth, but I have called you friends, for all things that I have heard of my Father I have made known unto you.”
You see then, dear ones, that if we know the will of God as Christ has revealed it, and knowing render hearty willing obedience, we, too, may claim the proud title of friends of God.
We may not attain to the close communion of that one who, in the early years of the world’s history, “walked with God.” We can never walk with Jesus as the disciples did in the days of His flesh, but we may call ourselves His friends, if, in humble dependence on the guidance of the Holy Spirit, we follow in His footsteps and obey His commands. Only thus can we journey towards a truly “good old age.”
We must now go back almost to the point at which we started this evening.
There are many samples of old age from which the young, especially, shrink with pity, repulsion, or even dislike. The saddest and worst of all must be the man or woman who, in the time of hoar hairs, is living without God. Who could help grieving for that human being who knows nothing of God’s love in Christ Jesus? Who that does not know it could help doing the one thing which is in the power of all? The most helpless can pray for such a one.
Quite apart from those in whose lives God has no place are many in whom the beauty of old age is marred by some habit which ought never to have grown into one, and never would had it been checked in time. A tiny germ at first, but, unchecked, it grew into what dimmed and overshadowed a life.
Years ago, through being brought in contact with various samples of soured old age, I learned to dread the very thought of resembling them, and often exclaimed, “I hope I shall never become a grumbling, crabbed old woman!” I noted that old age was often lonely and neglected because it exercised a depressing effect on all who came within its reach.
I doubt not that amongst you, my dear girl friends, there are many who visit old people in various positions. In some cases, you look forward with gladness to the prospect of a welcome, a happy, helpful talk, and a lingering good-bye. As you leave, you look back at the window at which you know your old friend will be standing, to catch the last glimpse of the grandmotherly face and the wave of a wrinkled hand. You trip away, smiling as you go, or perchance with a look of sweet thoughtfulness on your face as you recall some wise words that have fallen from those aged lips and which are already influencing you for good.
Did you grudge the time spent with this friend, or pay your visit as a matter of duty? No, indeed. Almost before you reached home you were looking forward to your next meeting as a privilege and a pleasure. Your friend was a sample of good old age. She had begun to walk with God in her youth, and each year of life had drawn her into closer communion with Him.
Let us look at another picture. You have been paying a duty call, and as you closed the door behind you, it was with a sigh of relief and a feeling of thankfulness that a disagreeable task was ended for the present. No looking back at that house. No longing for a last glimpse of an old face at a window. You had gone thither in obedience to the call of conscience and because you wanted to do right in a patient, self-sacrificing spirit, remembering your divine Master, who “pleased not Himself.” All the same it had been hard for you to listen to ceaseless complaints, expressions of self-pity, hard judgments on your neighbours, or even on some who were dear to you, to which it was very difficult not to reply so as to give offence.
Then, when you had stretched your call to the utmost possible limit, you have perhaps heard words something like these: “Are you really going? So soon? It was very good of you to come at all, for you would naturally prefer more cheerful company than that of a lonely woman, who has no news to tell that is worth listening to. I have few visitors now. It was different once, but at my time of life I must expect to be lonely and neglected.” And so on.
Is it wonderful that age like this should be neglected or visited as a matter of duty only, or as a task in which love and inclination have no part? The soured nature which can find voice only for complaints and repinings, that regards a smiling face almost as a personal insult, and the sight of youth and bright spirits as an aggravation of chronic grievances, can expect only neglect save from those in whom the same mind that was in Christ Jesus overcomes all selfish considerations.
The most persistent grumblers are often those who have the least real cause for complaint, and who possess blessings and comforts which others might well envy. But they turn away from a heaven flooded with sunshine, and will only look at a single cloud overhead, or search the horizon on the chance of discovering others.
You will agree with me that such a case as I have described is almost, if not quite, past remedy. Have I not admitted this from the very beginning of our talk about growing old?
Prevention is better than cure, and I want to urge upon you to be, whilst youth is yours and life nearly all before you, what you would like to be, only in a still higher and better degree, when you reach hoar hairs. I want every one of you to live to a good old age. So you must crush out the first signs of discontent, silence the inclination to murmur and resolve to make the best of your lot. You must be cheerful, patient and gentle towards others, careful in speech so as not to give needless offence, true in word and deed, so that from your youth up you may each be looked upon as one who may be fully trusted.
You must be kind and considerate for the feelings and peculiarities of your neighbours, even including their prejudices, realising that all which you are called upon to render to them you also need from them in return.
You must try to avoid the temptation to hard and hasty judgments, and turn a deaf ear to slanderous tales and malicious words. If tempted to do or say things unbecoming to a servant of Christ, or to utter sharp, cutting words because they are witty and clever, though they are sure to wound, pause and ask yourself, “Should I like to be the subject of such a jest? How should I feel under the lash of a cruel though witty tongue?”
Cherish a grateful spirit. Never forget to acknowledge a kindness, and utter your thanks not as if they were a matter of form, but as if they came from your heart. When someone says a kind thing, or confers some unsought favour, do not begin to ask yourself whether the donor has something to gain by serving you. Take the service, remember the kindly words said, and believe in the possibility of unselfishness as you acknowledge them.
If you surprise yourself in the practice of habits which, without being absolutely wrong, detract from the charm and refinement of youth, you may be sure that, if not checked, they will sadly interfere with the beauty of old age.
Age should have a sweet graciousness of manner, without any sign of condescension. It should have even more winning and pretty ways, if I may call them so, than youth has, though the seeds of them will have been planted in its young days, and will have grown to fair maturity with the rest of the character. Youth is often excused because it is young for many things that would bring contempt on age; so practise now, my dear ones, every little thing that can give glory to the hoary head. Set yourselves to deserve love and to win it now, and you will never know the misery of a neglected, lonely, friendless age. So far from that, the young will seek your companionship for the sake of what you are, not for what you have. Parents will rejoice to know you for the sake of what you can teach themselves, and the blessing of your example to their children.
You cannot “walk with God” and think little and seldom of Him. Every instance of His providential care will stir you to thanksgiving and increase your love for Him. The thought of His love will make silence impossible, and as you go about your daily employments, little spontaneous bursts of praise will well straight upward from your hearts. Thus habits of praise and glad thankfulness will grow upon you from day to day.
Experience of His love in providence and grace will give you confidence, and so each want of yours will find utterance in the prayer of faith, not only for the supply of your own ceaseless needs, but for blessings on the souls and bodies of your neighbours also. You will want “to love the Lord your God with heart and soul and mind and strength, and your neighbour as yourself,” and you will want and ask for the same longings to be felt by every human being.
What a good old age will be the result of such habits of life, such communion with God!
What a beautiful old age will that be where the heart is full of love to God and man!
What a happy old age when there is the certainty of a place in the Father’s home above at the close of it!
One part of God’s promise to Abraham was, “Thou shalt go to thy fathers in peace.” A sweet assurance this to one who, rich in all that the world calls wealth, had known changes, troubles, and trials such as fall to the lot of few human beings. Age should be a time of peace, and it will be such to these who during past years have humbly “walked with God.”
To all who are children of God through Christ will come words straight from His lips as precious as was that old promise made by Jehovah to the man whom He called “friend.” “Peace I leave with you, My peace I give unto you. Not as the world giveth, give I unto you. Let not your heart be troubled, neither let it be afraid.”
There can be no lonely old age for God’s true servants, the friends of Jesus, for our risen Lord’s last message to His disciples forbids the possibility. Did He not say, “Lo, I am with you alway, even unto the end of the world”?
(To be continued.)
[ABOUT PEGGY SAVILLE.]
By JESSIE MANSERGH (Mrs. G. de Horne Vaizey), Author of “Sisters Three,” etc.